


ghosts from a former life

by gracedbybattle



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Original Trilogy, Star Wars: Rebels
Genre: Canonical Character Death, F/M, Gen, Grief/Mourning, Movie: Star Wars: A New Hope, Parental Hera Syndulla, Post-Battle of Yavin, Post-Star Wars: A New Hope, Post-Star Wars: Return of the Jedi, Slice of Life, Team as Family, Yavin 4, no beta we die like men
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-12
Updated: 2020-04-25
Packaged: 2021-03-01 23:53:26
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,889
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23605603
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gracedbybattle/pseuds/gracedbybattle
Summary: I heard a Jedi took down the Death Star using the Force. A young boy with a blue lightsaber. He rescued Princess Leia, fought Darth Vader, struck a blow for the Rebellion. A boy with no family, from a desert planet.I heard it was a Jedi.Hera Syndulla and Ezra Bridger meet Luke Skywalker.
Relationships: Ezra Bridger & Kanan Jarrus, Ezra Bridger & Luke Skywalker, Kanan Jarrus/Hera Syndulla, Luke Skywalker & Hera Syndulla
Comments: 26
Kudos: 245





	1. Chapter 1

“We don’t have enough time,” Sabine says again, shoving crates up the ramp of the _Ghost_. “There’s just not enough time to evacuate all these people.”

“I know,” Hera calls over her shoulder, lekku swinging with her hurry. They’re running on fumes, just a few days after the victories and losses at Scarif. If she starts thinking about the number of hours that they’ve been awake, she might give out. Caf is keeping her going right now. Caf, and adrenaline. 

Just yesterday, she sat at the briefing table with General Dodonna discussing how suicidal it would be to lead a strike on Scarif. Only a few days later, the mad scramble is on to evacuate as much intel, personnel and supplies as possible off the Yavin base before the Empire can annihilate them. 

She tosses more bags into the hold in Zeb’s direction. “Where’s Alex?”

“In the command center,” the Lasat grunts, hauling the sacks over his shoulders and stacking them against the back of the hold. “He should’ve been back by now.”

“I’ll get him,” Hera promises. A long held rule, they don’t leave family behind. And if Yavin IV is really about to meet Alderaan’s fate, they’ve got to go now. “We’re not leaving without him.” She waves at their stacked supplies, already jogging for the main temple. “Just get as much as you can. We’re leaving as soon as I get back.”

Boots pounding, she hurries through the overhang of the temple, cursing herself for not evacuating sooner, wondering why Kallus thought now of all times would be a time to disappear. 

She spots him in the back of the command room, hand on his face in a telling tense gesture. A small contingency is clustered around the main table. Most everyone else has either evacuated or is in the process. Leia Organa is the most recognizable figure, stark white gown and curled buns a picture of royalty, not a hair out of place. No matter her age or size, she radiates a confidence that reminds Hera painfully of Bail. 

General Dodonna is across from her, face etched in tense lines, jaw clenched and a strong furrow cutting a line through his brow. The blue-green light of the screens is cascading through the dark room, illuminating worried faces with an eerie glow. 

If the destruction of Alderaan can be believed, this dash to get out may or may not matter. They’ll be caught in the blast even if they’d already left. But they’ve got to try. 

“Alex,” she whispers, sliding up beside him. “We’ve got to go.”

“We can’t leave now,” he protests, motioning at the remains of their leadership. “We won’t be able to clear the blast in time.”

“We have to try,” she whispers furiously back at him but he still looks torn. Organa and Dodonna have refused to abandon their post, determined to see this attack on the Empire through to the last second. Hera, however, is taking no chances with her family. They’ll regroup, they’ll rebuild the Rebellion if they can just get out of here.

Kallus still hesitates so she places a hand on his shoulder and he finally meets her eyes. 

“Sabine and Zeb are waiting for us,” she says and plays her card. “They won’t leave without both of us.”

He signs, resigned, the way she knew he would be. It’s a little of a dirty trick, but she doesn’t mind playing it. Not now. 

“Alright,” he caves, sparing one last look at the remains of their command and turning to face her fully. “Let’s go.” 

\--

They’re rocketing away from Yavin’s orbit as fast as Hera can push them when the blast banks against their backside. Hera swears she can feel the heat blister the back of the _Ghost’s_ exhaust. The aftershocks pulse through the space around them and for a brief sickening moment, she thinks it’s all over. 

_Thank the force Jacen is on Ryloth,_ is the only thought that races through her mind. 

But they weren’t far enough away from the planet to have cleared the destruction, if the planet was obliterated the way Alderaan was. She read the specs herself, and the report on Jedha, and she was there for Scarif. _Then what…?_

She glances in the view port and just stares. 

Yavin IV fits proudly underneath them, untouched. The spot where the Death Star sat only seconds before is ablaze with debris, a small handful of ships triumpetly zipping from the blast on their way back to Yavin. 

It’s gone. Blown to bits by their Rebellion. She can hardly believe it. 

“They did Hera,” Sabine says, leaning against her chair, voice breathless with relief and awe. She can just make out the muffled shouts from Zeb and Kallus further back in the hold, yelling with unbridled joy. “They did it.”

\--

The celebration as the pilots arrive back on Yavin is a mix of jubilation and sobering acknowledgement of the ships they lost. So many went out, and only three came back. Hera feels a touch of guilt at the rush of relief she feels knowing that one of them was Wedge. 

The realization of how close they came to losing it all is stark against the nearly empty hanger where dozens of ships used to sit. 

A throng of rebels are gathered around Red Four’s X-wing, the sandy haired pilot swept up among Leia Organa and the Corellian pilot whose name she can’t remember. Other members of the Rebellion are cheering around them, the sheer joy of having cheated death and robbing the Empire of it’s killer weapon.

Zeb, Kallus and Sabine have already dispersed through the base, looking for more materials to coordinate for their relocation. Death Star or not, the Empire knows where they are and they can’t stay here anymore. They already have a few locations scouted, but the idea of leaving Yavin IV is settling a lump in her throat. 

She hadn’t had time to dwell on it in their mad dash to escape, but now, the thoughts are creeping back. And her heart aches. 

It’s not that Yavin is home, not like Ryloth or the _Ghost._

But some mornings, she stands out beyond the Great Temple and watches the sun rise. Sometimes, in the morning before the base begins bustling, she stares at the spot where Kanan used to meditate in the early dawn. She can almost see him there, kneeling in the patch of grass, serene and at peace with his surroundings, sightless eyes closed. 

It hits her that leaving Yavin means leaving the last place that they were all together. It doesn’t make practical sense to be sentimental towards a pound of dirt. But she has grown fond. 

She spares one last, lingering look over the temple. Straightens her spine and resolves to find Sabine. Surely there is more to do before they leave here for good, and she is nothing if not practical. 

She turns the corner for the _Ghost_ , mentally calculating what else they need to take care of before the evacuation begins in the morning, when she sees him. He’s rounding the corner of the temple with a purpose but stops mid stride when he sees she’s in front of him. 

Luke Skywalker. The hero of the Rebellion. Destroyer of the Death Star. They’re swinging his praises in catina’s from here to Coursant, even if they don’t know his name. He’ll go down as a legend. 

“General Syndulla?” he says her name softly, with an undercurrent of respect. 

She stares, transfixed like she’s been caught in a tractor beam. Luke Skywalker can’t be much older than a teenager, sandy blond hair and clear blue eyes. A familiar looking silver cylinder hangs from the belt of his flight suit, clinking gently against his side. It catches the fading sun and shoots tendrils of light across the empty cavern. 

She shakes her head to clear her thoughts, but the lump in her throat remains. “I am. And you must be Luke.”

He ducks his head a little but he’s smiling, no doubt still getting used to the idea that everyone on the base must know who he is. He’s gone from a nobody to a hero overnight. It must take some adjusting. 

“Luke Skywalker. Leia told me to check in with you before everyone started evacuating.”

“I asked her to,” Hera admits. “Not in a professional capacity exactly,” and Luke meets her eyes. They’re a crystal, clear blue. They blaze with something she can’t quite identify, hope, focus, purpose, destiny. They remind her of another boy, one with dark blue eyes and a stalwart determination. 

Her heart throbs at the comparison. 

She smiles reassuringly. This isn’t an interrogation and she doesn’t want him to feel the need to be formal. “I wanted to thank you. You saved us all.”

He flushes a touch at the praise and shrugs. “I wanted to help. To do something good,” he replies. _Selfless_ , she thinks. “I knew I could do it,” he says but it's not a proud statement. Just confident. 

“I was curious about how you made the shot. Without the targeting computer, I mean. That was one in a million.”

Luke sighs. “You and everybody else.” He wavers a bit under her gaze. She can’t help but be struck by how unfailingly young he is, many years her junior and probably close to Ezra’s age. She imagines how Ezra would look now, if he’d grown taller, filled out, lost all the baby fat in his face. If his hair was longer or if he kept it short. She wishes she knew. 

The young man in front of her is already developing a reputation around the Rebellion, whether he likes it or not. He has Leia's respect, which is as good a stamp of approval as he could have hoped for, and she’s heard that he and Wedge have already struck up a rapport.

From what others have said, he's a welcome addition to their cause. A good pilot, an eager mind, and a kind soul. That was Dodonna's evaluation. He tends to have a good eye for a first impression. 

Luke flicks a hand at his side, reaching for the cylinder that she knows is a lightsaber. He clenches his hand before he touches it, flexes his fist like he's storing up for something before taking a deep breath. 

“Have you ever heard of the Jedi?"

She sucks in a hard breath. "Yes."

"Really?" his gaze shoots up to hers and he looks surprised. "I thought they were an old religion. Not many people believe in them anymore.”

"A lot don't," Hera admits and she wonders if he can feel the pain in her, the way it must be escaping into the air around them. Kanan always could. "Do you?"

"I knew one," Luke says, sidestepping her question with a new revelation. "Ben Kenobi. He taught me a few things, before he died. He knew my father, during the Clone Wars.”

"Kenobi," Hera breathes and a memory is resurfacing. One from years ago when the sun used to shine the most brilliant sunsets off of Chopper Base during those early years of the Rebellion. 

In the back edges of her mind, she can see Ezra, dirty, dehydrated and something approaching exhausted, walking down the ship ramp to more or less collapse in Kanan's waiting arms before telling them that yes, Maul was gone and he was never coming back. 

_Kenobi._

She swallows hard. “I knew someone who knew a Kenobi, once. In a past life.”

“Were they a Jedi?” he asks and even though she’s expecting it, her mouth goes dry at the question. 

Luke is watching her. He’s pulsing with an undercurrent of energy, almost buzzing in his anticipation. But he seems to sense that this is a painful memory for her, and he doesn’t rush her. His eyes are kind. 

He reminds of her of Ezra, that earnest way he used to needle Kanan endlessly about the past. The way he wanted to know everything, everything he could about the Force, the Sith, the old temples, the old Jedi.

The way Kanan had slowly unfolded to him, sharing old memories and painful pasts with his padawan. The way it made him lighter, softer once he no longer carried the burden of being the last. 

She wonders if sharing this with someone would help her too. 

But, another moment passes and she can’t find the words to push past her throat. She has never been able to fully appreciate how hard it must have been for Kanan to share those thoughts about the past. The way he used to speak of Master Billaba, kindness in sorrow mixed together. 

How can she describe Kanan to a virtual stranger? 

How can she talk about him without mentioning all the nights they stayed up together, drinking caf on the top of the _Ghost_ , watching the stars and imagining a better life? The days he sat with her in the medbay after Crimson Dawn, the difficult weeks after Malachor, the gentle way he’d bandaged cuts and bruises with bacta, the weight of his arm around her shoulders, the steady comfort of him at her side. The father of her son, to a boy he’ll never meet, who is safe and sound with her father on Ryloth. 

How can she make anyone else even begin to understand? How can she make Luke understand what they lost, what they sacrificed, to give the rest of the galaxy a chance?

How can she describe Kanan in words, when he was so much more?

How can she even describe Erza, who she refuses to believe is dead?

“I heard,” Luke starts and he’s waiting to make sure he’s not intruding. She inclines her head to him, a silent _go on_. “Someone told me that a pair of force sensitives used to run with Phoenix Squadron.”

She nods. Her throat is tight, the scar of an old wound making itself known. “They were part of my crew.”

“Were they Jedi?”

She thinks about how Kanan used to chafe at being called a Jedi, how the very word could make his face shutter, how he’d walk from the room, lock himself in his quarters and pretend his past didn’t exist. 

But she also remembers how he learned to embrace it, how he found peace within himself to bond with Ezra. The way he taught him the old ways and the new.

He’d always had it inside him, to make peace with the past and become someone stronger. She knew, even all those years ago on Gorse. 

She’d never doubted him. 

_“I don’t know if I can.” “I know you can.”_

Even when he doubted himself.

“In all the ways that mattered,” she tells Luke. 

“What were they like?” he asks, as curious as Ezra was once. “How well did you know them?”

_“Careful!”_

_Kanan’s voice rings out through the Ghost, concern mixed with an undercurrent of amusement. Laughter and the familiar stomping of blurs are audible from where she’s adjusting the panels. Hera wipes her hand off from the grease of the console and smiles, pulling her gloves off and dropping them to the floor. She walks out to join Kanan on the ramp._

_The sun is still high in the sky, drenching the landscape of Arvala-7 in glorious light. Their latest contact, Kuiil, has a small patch of land out here, many clicks away from any sort of Imperial surveillance._

_“They’ll be fine,” she says, laying a hand on Kanan’s shoulder. He’s turned in the direction of the corral, where Ezra and Sabine are both trying unsuccessfully to mount one of the blurgs. Zeb is sitting propped on the top railing, watching with Chopper and Kuiil._

_Ezra has at least made it on top of one of the beasts. Hera suspects it has a lot more to do with his force ability to connect with creatures than any talent as a rider. He’s grinning as he watches Sabine circle the other blurg before it senses she’s behind it and takes off again. Mud splatters everywhere, raining blobs of brown into Sabine’s white-lavender hair. Hera can hear her shriek, less of surprise and more of frustration, from here._

_Ezra is laughing, clinging to the top of his blurg with one hand and trying not to double over. Zeb is chuckling, his deep baritone carries well over distance, and even Chopper is warbling the tune that means he’s amused._

_Kanan was working on supper, a delicious bantha stir fry from the smells that drifted down the hallway, before being drawn out here to watch the kids. She wonders if their laughter drew him, the same as it did her._

_For years, Kanan has been the cook on board. Hera has never cared to cook or to learn how. MREs suit her just fine and back when it was just her and Chopper, it hardly mattered. But Kanan has insisted on actual food, not just basic nutrition, and occasionally ropes the kids and Zeb into helping him. No one on the Ghost ever goes hungry, not with him around._

_“Let them have their fun,” she smiles, sliding an arm around his neck and leaning against his back. He’s standing far enough down the steep incline of the ramp that she's a bit taller than he is._

_It’s a welcome relief to see Ezra and Sabine like this. Playing. They’ve grown so much these past few years, particularly in the last few months. It’s nice to see the tension bleed away and melt the stress from their faces, to be reminded that they really are still kids._

_“I don’t need to see to know he’s gonna fall off,” Kanan mutters, reaching a hand up to massage the bridge of his nose, white eyes closed. His mask is discarded somewhere, probably from when he was cooking. He doesn’t tend to wear it around home._

_“He’ll be fine,” she says. Kanan sighs, leaning back against her and she wraps her arm around his chest, tucks his head underneath her chin. The serenity of the moment envelopes her, like a warmth spreading through her bones. The sun is a comfortable heat against her skin, the solid bulk of Kanan grounding as she watches Ezra attempt to get the blurg to go the direction he wants it to._

_The creature is protesting and Zeb is calling out some instructions that she can’t make out. Chopper pipes up from his spot behind the fence, but the frequency he’s generating must affect the animals because the second his antenna whirls, the blurg howls and pitches Ezra off in dramatic fashion._

_Kanan starts, like he’s going to get up and rush to the corral, before he relaxes at the sound of louder laughter, including Ezra’s own._

_“I’m okay!” Ezra yells, too loud to be intended for anyone other than her and Kanan. She waves in acknowledgement, feeling Kanan relax. Ezra can probably feel Kanan’s worry through their force bond, he’s not exactly trying to hide it. She can feel his concern herself, no force sensitivity needed._

_She watches Sabine pull Ezra up from the mud, brushing the muck from his jumpsuit. They’re both a mess, dirty and dusty and Hera is already dreading the laundry day that awaits them._

_“It’s time for dinner!” she calls out, hoping to salvage whatever garments they have left. At least, hopefully nothing is torn or in need of repair._

_“Hurry up or there won’t be any left!” Kanan adds. The threat is empty, if anything Kanan is always trying to feed them more, especially Ezra, but it has the desired effect. Erza and Sabine hop the fence, making a beeline back for the Ghost, Zeb and Chopper in their wake. Kuiil waves once at Hera, turning and heading back to his hut._

_They clamp up the ramp together, trailing a line of dust in their wake that she mentally notes to clean later. Zeb and Sabine are talking between themselves, making for the galley while Chopper trails behind. Kanan claps Ezra on the shoulder, the younger already chattering a mile a minute, something about connections and the living force._

_Kanan is ever patient, steadily fielding his padawan’s questions as they begin to disappear into the ship. She notices that he trails a hand down Ezra’s back as they walk, no doubt silently probing for any overlooked injury from the fall. She catches Ezra’s eye as he turns the corner and nods once, a smirk on his face. He knows._

_Hera retracts the Ghost’s ramp and it shuts with a click. She takes a moment to just close her eyes and breathe, the easy joy of today washing over her. The entire ship is filled with the delicious smells and the sound of her family's voices, loud and familiar, just around the corner._

_“Hey Hera?” Ezra pokes his head around the corner, staring at her. “You coming?”_

_“Yes,” she says, unable to wipe the smile off her face, slinging an arm around Ezra’s shoulders and pulling him against her side. He’s gotten so tall, they’re almost level now. The backs of her eyes burn but her heart is light. “Let’s go eat.”_

“How well did you know them?”

_Like the back of my hand, to the depth of my soul._

“Very well,” she manages. The truth comes easiest. “They were family.”

“I’d love to hear about them,” Luke says earnestly. “Anything.” 

_“I don’t know if I can.”_

She looks at him and wishes, the way she never allows, that Kanan and Ezra were here. That they could meet Luke, this talented young man just brimming with destiny.

The three of them would be enough to bring down the Empire alone, she thinks. 

A gentle breeze wafts around, warm. It comes out of nowhere and dances by her ear. A few leaves swirl and the tips of her lekku sway. She sees Luke stiffen in surprise, but she feels a sense of calm wash over her, like a cresting wave. A familiar warmth pulses in her heart and a voice whispers by her ear, so soft she can barely make out the words. 

_“I know you can.”_

The leaves fall and the breeze abates, like it was never there. The thick, humid air of Yavin IV breaks as it suddenly begins to rain, steadily and with a promise of a good soaking. She and Luke stare at it in wonder. 

A laugh bubbles in Hera throat, not big enough to break through, but she smiles all the same. 

_“The Jedi teach that life doesn’t cease after death, but merely changes form in the Force._ ”

It wasn’t due to rain for at least a few rotations. 

“I’d like that,” she says, sincere. She feels a lightness that she carries in her step, walking with a renewed purpose. “C’mon,” she gestures. Luke falls alongside her and they walk as a pair towards the _Ghost_ through the downpour. 

She stops for a moment at the ramp as Luke disappears inside, Chopper rolling forward to meet their guest. Luke greets the droid as Chopper strings off a line of binary and Skywalker responds in kind. Chopper, delighted to have someone else that speaks binary, warbles back a response that even she has trouble understanding. Luke's clear, delighted laughter rings through the hull. 

She smiles and, just for a moment, turns her face to the sky and lets the rain soak her skin. It's warm. It’s soaking her flight suit and running in rivulets down her cap, but she feels a deep sense of peace. 

"Thank you," she whispers softly, raising a hand to touch something unseen. 

The breeze kicks up, spinning around her back. For a moment, she feels a warmth on her shoulder, like a familiar touch. She presses a hand to the spot and breathes.

“I know,” she says and how crazy she must look, talking to the sky. She couldn’t care less. 

The wind dances again, pushing against her side towards the entry. It’s intention is clear. 

She takes a deep breath and for a moment, can almost feel the energy Luke’s force signature is giving off inside, as bright and strong as a star. It’s familiar. “I think this kid’s a good one.”


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which there is more than one Jedi from the Rebellion or at least, there used to be. 
> 
> Ezra Bridger meets Luke Skywalker.

Ezra isn’t expecting to meet the new hope of the Jedi on a sunny afternoon on Chandrila, but well. The Force works in mysterious ways. 

He’s still adjusting to the new world around him, fresh back from the reaches of wild space with Ahsoka and Sabine. He lingered for a few days on Ryloth, sitting on the terrace with Hera and watching Jacen play with Chopper. The years stretch between them, a yawning chasm that Hera takes no time in bridging, pulling him into her arms as soon as he’s within reach. 

They spend nearly an entire day talking, recounting the days and missions between the two of them. It’s hard to believe that the fledgling Rebellion that they fought so hard to build grew enough to topple the Empire. 

Mon Montha is putting together a delegation to convene on Chandrila to begin discussing the formation of the New Republic. Though Hera has no interest in the complicated work of politics, Leia had requested she attend. She drags Ezra along. 

Ezra feels out of place in the sweeping city and stifled within the walls of the ornate building they’re in. He sends Hera a message, that he’s going to take the opportunity to explore the city, and leaves. The warmth of the city is a welcome difference after all the years at the edges of space, though he’d not used to the heat.

The sweat is beading against his forehead by the time he returns from the building, grateful to find that Hera and the delegation are in the midst of a break. He accompanies her to lunch, bypassing the more exotic dishes in favor of the meats and grains, and a single jogan fruit. 

A few of the delegates are breaking off and pairing up, idle chatter swimming through the room. Ezra is approached by a few he recognizes and a few that are new. The new simply ask who he is, and he politely returns that he’s a friend of Hera Syndulla and doesn’t elaborate. The ones he knows look at him with surprise, relief and something almost tinged with sadness. He tries not to linger on anyone too long, avoiding questions he doesn’t want to answer. 

Hera is a steady presence at his side, one hand against his arm like she’s afraid he’ll disappear again. She departs for a smaller subcommittee meeting, promising to return before the sun sets. He smiles, reassuring her he isn’t a child anymore, painfully aware that he’s now nearly a head taller than her. 

“I promise I can behave until you get back,” he grins, feeling like his old mischievous self for a moment. 

“You better,” she says faux stern, giving him a look that is only half joking. “Sabine will be furious if I lose you before she gets back from Mandalore.” He smiles at her. The familiarity of being with family again is more comforting than he can articulate and watches her disappear with the contingency. He resolves to explore a little more while he waits. 

He’s just making his way out to the indoor gardens, a place that’s been calling to him subtly since they arrived here, when he sees him. 

Luke Skywalker is standing against the balcony at the end of the hall, like something out of a holo drama, a distinct dark figure against the blue sky. His hands are clasped behind his back, so that Ezra can see the silver outline of his lightsaber handing on his belt. He couldn’t have missed him if he tried. The other man radiates through the Force like a bright white beacon. 

He can’t help but approach him, drawn by an invisible cord. Hera, Zeb, Sabine, Ahsoka, they’ve all been telling him stories of Skywalker, the savior of the Rebellion and hero of the galaxy. He wants to know if they’re true. 

The other man notices his approach, turning to face Ezra as he approaches from the side and smiles, open and easy. 

“Hello,” he says politely, and then straightens with a more calculating look, like he can sense that Ezra isn’t just another citizen here on Chandrila but something more. He holds out a hand. “I’m Luke Skywalker. I don’t think we’ve met.”

“Ezra Bridger,” Ezra answers, taking his hand. His grip is strong, calloused in all the right places from yielding a ‘saber. It’s a familiar feeling. Luke’s eyebrows raise just a touch. “You came with Hera Syndulla,” and Ezra nods. Luke looks more interested now. “You were Phoenix Squadron. You’re a legend.”

“So are you,” Ezra says, a little relieved that he didn’t ask  _ where have you been all this time? _ like everyone tends to do. He’s getting tired of repeating the past. He clears his throat, ready to address the bantha in the room before he loses his nerve. 

“Hera tells me you’re a Jedi,” Ezra says. 

“I am,” Luke says without hesitation, blue eyes bright. The line is rehearsed with an undercurrent of pride that he makes no effort to temper. “Like my father before me”

Something in Ezra cracks at the words, something deep within his very soul. It’s as though a black hole opened in his chest and is determined to suck him through it. Like a bone cracked deep in his sternum. 

_ Like my father before me.  _

A thousand memories flash before his eyes. Teal blue eyes, then white, a bandage, a mask. 

A disassembled lightsaber, a green pauldron, long hair pulled back in a tie. 

A comforting hand on his shoulder, warm arms tugging him into a solid chest, a soothing presence in the back of his mind. He reaches, instinctively even after all these years, for the silent bond in the back of his mind. It’s been dark for years but he can’t help the reflex. It’s dark and quiet like a tomb, the way it has been since that fateful day on Lothal. His heart aches. 

Luke is watching him curiously, no doubt sensitive to the sudden sharp tang of grief in the air. He doesn’t react though, doesn’t push or prod, just stands quietly and waits for Ezra to collect himself. 

Ezra feels a deep appreciation for his kindness, his tact. There’s something in the other man’s eyes, something that seems understanding. He can’t find pity there, just a wash of empathy. It’s more comforting than he thought it would be. He offers a smile, though he knows it’s small and cracked. 

“I’ve heard stories about you,” Luke says when it’s obvious that Ezra doesn’t know how to respond. “From Hera. Zeb Orrelios too.” 

“Yeah?” Ezra asks because it’s rude not to talk to someone when they’re talking to you. Even if he doesn’t know what to say back. 

“The Jedi are not gone,” Luke continues like he knows Ezra needs him to fill the silence between them. He doesn’t seem upset by it, happy to talk on his own to this stranger. “I’m going to build it again,” and Ezra just blinks at him. “The Jedi Order,” he elaborates and Ezra’s eyes widen. 

“It’s time,” he says and the confidence in his eyes is sure. “It’s what Ben, what Yoda wanted. It’s what my father would have wanted.” 

“Yoda?” Ezra asks out of reflex, surprised to hear a long-forgotten name. 

“He trained me,” Luke clarifies like he can read Ezra’s mind. “The last thing he said to me was, ‘Pass on what you have learned.’ That’s what I’m going to do.”

He smiles at Ezra, friendly and open and the contract between them is stark. Luke, crystal blue eyes with a clean face, sandy blonde hair just barely flopping into his eyes. He looks every inch the Jedi Knight he claims to be, draped in black with his lightsaber at his belt. 

Ezra can feel the weight of his longer hair tied back in a bun at the base of his head, a million strands that have escaped curling around his face, a dark beard stretched across his jawline. His dark blue eyes are nearly the opposite shade of Skywalker’s, so deep they are almost purple. He feels like less of a Jedi and more of a nomad in his regular wear, a combination of an old tunic and faded flight suit with a pair of sturdy boots. His lightsaber is tucked into a fold against his side, hidden from causal view but easy to access. 

He stares at this man who should be a stranger but isn’t. Luke Skywalker is sure of himself and his path, the one that destiny set him on. 

Ezra doesn’t know who he is anymore. The years since Lothal have made him into something different, yet the same. 

Since Kanan, he’d been making his own way in the world, surviving. A Jedi Knight is a title that he’s not sure he deserves or even wants. He understands the Force, lives it in and around it like a friend. 

But a Jedi? A Knight of the Order? That is something else entirely. 

“I think Jacen Syndulla is Force sensitive,” Luke says like he can’t stop dropping bombs on Ezra’s day. He looks thoughtful. “I mentioned it to Hera once, and she agreed with me. She said his father was.” He watches the skyline for a moment before he turns to Ezra. They’re standing closer now, almost enough to touch and the air around them is thrumming with the Force. 

“Did you know him?”

“Yes,” and doesn’t offer more. He can’t. His heart is in his throat, mind racing with memories. Can almost feel a phantom touch on his shoulder, grounding and strong. 

_ Hey kid, you need a ride? _

Luke’s gaze is still on him, waiting. He doesn’t know what to say. 

“You could come with me,” Luke says out of the blue and it takes a half a moment for the shock to resonate and the words to sink past his mind. 

“What?”

“You could come with me,” Luke repeats patiently. There’s a smile on his face that he can’t contain and a fondness in the air. Like he likes Ezra, even though he doesn’t know him. Ezra feels dumbfounded, unsure. He doesn’t plan to spend the rest of his days sitting in Hera’s house. But he hadn’t yet decided what he wants from this new world.

“I’m not really a Jedi,” he admits because he needs to say the words out loud. “Not like the old Jedi, anyway.”

Luke startles him with a laugh. It’s a nice sound, high and clear. “I don’t think I am either, at least not what the old masters intended.” 

He drops his head and lets his hair fall forward, looks up an Ezra though blond bangs. His smile is wide. “It’ll be different, better this time.” He sounds so sure. “But I could use some help.”

He looks at Ezra, hopeful.

Ezra breathes, the weight in his chest settling to break free. He stretches out in his mind, searching for an answer. But he already has it. The Force sings around them. It feels right. “Yes.”

**Author's Note:**

> come cry with me about rebels on twitter @gracedbybattle


End file.
